


Six Geese a-Laying

by MatildaSwan



Series: this family of ours, we wouldn't change it for the world [2]
Category: Holby City
Genre: Barnyard Animals, Canon Compliant, F/F, Family Fluff, Festive Cheer ft. Christmas Surprises, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 01:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13066374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/pseuds/MatildaSwan
Summary: One surprise too many on Christmas Eve gives Bernie yet another reason to think barns are good.





	Six Geese a-Laying

**Author's Note:**

> much love to Jess for betaing and helping me w names, and also Nat for lending a hand there too <3
> 
> And so, may I present the sixth installment of the 12 Days of Christmas! Full of good wholesome gay fun for the festive season! Enjoy!!!

‘This really is a lovely part of the country,’ Serena muses, staring out the window at the snow spotted, sloping countryside rolling past, while carols counting down to Christmas Eve hum low from the radio.

‘It is,’ Bernie replies, her eyes fixed on the empty road as she slouches in the driver’s seat. ‘Shame we couldn’t make it up here earlier.’

‘We’ll just have to come back in the spring,’ Serena promises, turning to look at her partner: the corners of Bernie’s lips curl up into a tiny smile, spreading wide as she turns towards Serena to flash her a warm, tight lipped grin. Serena smiles back, before being treated to a view of Bernie’s profile as she turns back to the road.

She’s glad they managed to get some time off, at Christmas no less, and finally make the trip to see Charlotte’s new house: a cottage in the countryside, small enough to warrant a warning about Christmas lunch being a bit of a tight squeeze with the whole clan coming to eat, but big enough to welcome them to stay on Christmas Eve. Bernie hasn’t seen her daughter since she moved away with her fiancée more than six months ago,and Serena knows how important today is for her; she’s glad to be here, happy for Bernie, to be able to share this with her partner.

A flock of pigeons picking at seeds on the side of the road take flight as the car approaches; Serena cranes her neck to watch them fly away.

They pass by the post office, a pub, and a primary school, and Serena realises they’re driving along what constitutes the main road in this part of the country. She looks at the map, to Bernie’s scribbled instructions **—** ‘SatNav invents a street that’s been inaccessible since the 70’s,’ Charlotte explained over the phone a few days before. ‘Ignore the damn thing, listen to me instead.’—they take a left, then a right, drawing close to their destination. Serena keeps her eyes peeled for a blue house with a green fence.

The road bends then straightens and a little blue cottage on top of a hill comes into focus. The huge log fence marking the driveway gleams emerald beside the grey gravel, lightly crusted with sleet and snow.

‘That’s the one’ she says, pointing to the right; Bernie squeezes the wheel a touch tighter as they crest the hill and turn into the drive. Serena marvels at the dusted white hedges, newly planted but taking root, already looking forward to seeing what the gardens grow into in a few months time.

‘This is lovely!’ She turns to Bernie, mischief in her eyes. ‘Maybe we should get a farm?’

They’ve been talking about retirement lately. Serena used to joke the two of them would practice medicine till the day they die, but the years have take their toll; each bad day sits heavier, longer, harder on their shoulders than the last, and soon enough a day will come with a burden that not even the two of them together can manage. Neither of them know what they want to move on to, what they might be moving towards, but they do know they want to do it together.

Bernie barks out a laugh, low and warm. ‘I can’t see you waking up at the crack of dawn to milk the cows, Campbell.’ She smirks at Serena as the the driveway keeps rolling on. ‘Can you?’

‘Excuse you,’ Serena scoffs indignantly. ‘I think I’d be rather good at it.’

‘You’re good at everything, Serena,’ Bernie replies, her voice earnest, before her face softens and her crinkle. ‘I just don’t think you’d like it very much.’

Serena sucks her teeth as they reach the end of the driveway. ‘You’re probably right.’

‘I usually am,’ Bernie quips, pulling up the hand-break.

‘Conceited much?’

Bernie cuts the engine turns to Serena, wolfish grin lighting up her face. ‘You love it.’

‘I do.’ She leans forward to steal a quick kiss as she unlatches her door. ‘Very much.’

‘Sap,’ Bernie teases, and Serena props the door open with her knee, sitting back to bat at Bernie’s shoulder.

‘You’re no better!’

‘I know,’ Bernie relents, grabbing Serena’s hand and pulling her close to kiss her soundly. Serena braces herself on Bernie’s knee, squeezing fondly, and hums against her lips, Bernie’s fingers massaging at the nape of her neck.

They pull away to find Charlotte standing in the drive and staring at them: her arms folded, mouth pouted, judgemental brow raised high.

‘When you’re finished being randy teenagers...’ She gets her snark from her mother, they both know.

‘Sorry,’ Bernie apologises as she clambers out of the car, blushing.

‘I’m only teasing, Mum!’ Charlotte’s stony-faced disdain breaks apart and she smiles brightly. ‘Come here,’ she beckons, pulling Bernie into a tight hug, all limbs and odd angles and love, while Serena brings up the rear.  ‘It’s good to see you.’ Bernie beams when they break away. ‘And you, Serena.’

‘Hello, Lottie,’ she says warmly, opening up her arms to envelop her stepdaughter. She rubs Charlotte’s back affectionately, the thick wool of her sweater soft under Serena’s hand. ‘It’s been too long.’

Bernie stands back to look at two women she loves most in the world and smiles, tight and small and bright. Her heart aches in the best possible way.

‘And where are my hugs?’ A voice cuts through their greetings, drawing their attention towards the house and the figure walking towards them.

‘Of course, where are my mann…ers. Oh, my _god, Polly_!’

Polly stops waddling, her hands falling to frame the definite bulge of her stomach stretching the reindeers patterning the hideously endearing knitted sweater which puts any number in Serena’s collection to shame. She smirks at the lot of them, glowing in the brisk midday sun.

‘Charlotte!’ Bernie chastises, eyes sparkling and face aghast. ‘You should have said!’

Charlotte shrugs, unperturbed and smug. ‘Surprise!’

‘It is.’ Bernie’s shoulders slag slightly. ‘You didn’t even say you were trying.’

Charlotte shuffles closer to bump against Bernie, draw her eyes up off the ground. ‘We didn’t think it would happen so quickly.’

‘First go round, actually,’ Polly clarifies, before adding blandly, ‘Apparently I am extremely fertile.’

Bernie snorts, flashing them both a small grin. ‘Well that’s good to know.’ She pulls Charlotte into a one armed hug. ‘Congratulations, love.’

‘Thanks,’ Charlotte mumbles, smiling small and bright: the spit of Bernie when she’s overwhelmed, as she is just now.

Serena’s heart tugs at the sight of them, so similar a pair, before turning back to Polly and wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug. She pulls away, beaming, grip firm on Polly’s shoulders. ‘What wonderful news, I’m so happy for you both!’

‘Thank you,’ Polly practically gushes, reaching out to take Lottie’s hand as Bernie appears by Serena’s elbow, eyes glistening through her smile. ‘Both of you.’ She turns brusque, every bit the school teacher she is. ‘Now, do you want to get settled first, or would you rather the grand tour?’ she adds, eyeing at the slight hunch still lingering in Bernie’s back.

‘I wouldn’t say no stretching my legs,’ Bernie replies. It’s as close as she’ll ever get to admitting she’s in pain. ‘Tour first?’ She looks over at Serena, gets a nod in return. ‘Righto, lead the way.’

Charlotte leads them across the front of the house, Bernie striding along beside her: the two of them charging ahead on their long stork legs to ease the kinks out of Bernie’s back, while Serena waddles along with Polly. They come to a stop beside a dozen vegetable patches fenced off at hip height: half of them bare and tilted, waiting of springtime planting, the others already sprouting greenery but bearing no fruit, just like the fruit trees beyond the patch and halfway down the sloped curve of the hill.

Serena wanders over to the paddock fence while Bernie grills Polly about the chilli garden, braces herself against the stonework and looks out over the view and soak in the smaller details. It gets prettier the longer she looks.

She wonders how the place will look in the springtime, lush green and sunshine for miles. Doubts either of them will begrudge the hours long drive from Holby to find out, much less with the promise of a grandchild on the way. The thought makes her smile.

A water trough in the corner of the next paddock catches her eye and she turns back to the group, sees Charlotte already wandering towards her. ‘Have you got any animals?’

‘Some.’ She nods as she leans against the wall beside Serena, casting her eyes over the empty fields. ‘Probably loitering around the barn at the moment. But I expect you’ll see them soon enough,’ she adds, smirking with a tiny glint of mischief.

Serena eyes her suspiciously, but hesitates to ask when Lottie adds, ‘We kept the birds in their coops today, because of the snow. Come on, I’ll show you.’

She pushes off the wall and beckons them to follow, around the back of the cottage towards the barn looming in the next paddock over to stop in front of the now visible wire coops closer to the house. One is filled by a dozen chickens, scratching and clucking around the grass expanse of the large enclosure; another is seemingly empty save for the wooden hutch in the middle. They both back onto a third pen housing half a dozen large, fat grey and white geese huddling under the covered areas of the enclosure.

They stir when the group draws near, a flock of beady little eyes turning to glare at them.

‘Oh, don’t look at me like that,’ Charlotte chides with a pout. ‘Our lunch is none of your concern.’

Serena turns to Polly with a curious frown. ‘What’s she talking about?’

‘We’re having roast goose tomorrow.’

Serena’s eyes widen. ‘You mean…’ she trails off, pointing towards the six geese a-glaring at them with disdain and feigned disinterest.

’What? Oh, no! I don’t think either of us could manage _that,_ ’ Polly reassures with a chuckle. ‘No, no, it came from the butchers in town. But Lottie was wondering whether sweet or normal potato goes best with goose when we were feeding them a few days ago. They’ve been mad ever since.’

‘I see.’ Serena eyes the geese warily. ‘I didn’t know they were so...deliberate.’

‘That, or they’re just angry little shits. Either way.’ She shrugs fondly and Serena snorts.

One lone dissenter, a fraction of the size and with completely different coloring to the others, emerges from the group.

‘Is that a duck?’ Bernie exclaims, delighted, as a tiny woodland fowl waddles towards the fence. She crouches down for a better look.

‘That’s Pedro,’ Charlotte introduces with a laugh, looking down over Bernie’s shoulder. ‘Found him tangled up in some barbed wire by the pond in the far field not long after we moved here. We tried putting him back in the wild once his wing healed—a few times, actually—but he kept coming back.’

Bernie grins as he sticks his beak through the wire to nibble at her outstretched hand; she apologises for not having any snacks, before standing again. ‘So what’s he doing in there with the geese?’

‘He likes it in there.’

‘I think their weird noises make him feel at home,’ Polly adds with a smile.

The geese take offence and start hissing; the cacophony clashes endearingly with Pedro’s tiny, happy quacks.

‘They are very odd,’ Serena agrees, shivering as a gust of cold air swirls around them, bracing herself when a second, stronger, gust follows on its heels.

A bang echoes around them as an empty feeder smacks against the pen door, making the latch jump loose. A third gust swirls around them, and the pen gate flies right open.

Six long necks swivel towards the wide open door, four sets of human eyes blink, frozen still.

The geese make a break for it, dashing across the pen—one slaps over the pond, splashing water up in the air—to pour out into the freedom, wings outstretched, flapping and hissing and spitting, as they careen towards the focus of their ire and her facsimile: old and wiser and far more scared of angry birds than her daughter.

Charlotte—uninterested in the antics of the flock—stands her ground, but Bernie’s natural flight response kicks in. She stumbles back, turning sharply to catch herself from falling over a stray stone, before bolting away with the flock hot on her tail.

The other three stand still, gobsmacked, and watch her run across the lawn towards the fence and leap right over it; the stonework deters most of them and they disperse across the sleet spotted grass to pick at the ground with their feathers ruffled, fluffy and fat, but the gap under the nearby gate lets the smallest of the flock keep up pursuit all the way to the barn.

Bernie is still hiding in there by the time the trio manage to lull the geese calm with extra grain and coax them back into the coop again a good fifteen minutes later, staring at the red, wooden wall, sulking atop a bale of hay.  

‘Thought I’d find you here,’ Serena teases, leaning against a beam in front of Bernie.

Bernie sniffs, but does not move, so Serena sits down instead, shifting Bernie’s knees to press their sides tight. ‘You did always did have a soft spot for barns,’ she muses, trying to draw Bernie out of her embarrassment.

‘Oh, shut up,’ Bernie chides, but a tiny smile pulls at the corner of her lips. Serena smiles in return, reaching over to gently pat Bernie’s knee, squeezing firmly before resting a warm palm on her thigh.

She waits until Bernie turns towards her with crinkled eyes to offer her a reassuring smile before she suggests heading back to the house.  

‘Running like that must have worked up an appetite. Let’s go help with tea.’ She slaps at Bernie’s knee before using it to leaver herself standing and holds out her hand.

‘You’re right, it did,’ Bernie agrees, sliding her palm into Serena’s, holding on tight.

Serena tugs gently; Bernie pulls back harder. Serena falls into Bernie’s lap with a surprised shout; her hands braced against Bernie’s shoulders as Bernie’s hands fall to her hips, warm and solid through her woolen layers.

‘Not for food, I take it?’ she says glibly, arching a brow.  

Bernie shakes her head, eyes sparking with mirth and smirking wide; Serena rolls her eyes, shaking her head with a fond chuckle. She slips her arms around Bernie’s neck to card her fingertips through short blonde curls as the hands around her waist pull her closer, dips her chin to catch Bernie’s lips with her own, humming happily as a thumb tickles at the hem of her jumper.

The pitter patter of tiny webbed feet draws near, crunching over the straw-speckled floor of the barn, before ceasing; gentle, curious quacks fill the air and they break apart, panting slightly, and turn—Serena twisting at the hip, Bernie peering past her shoulder—to find Pedro staring at them with one beady little eye **.**

He squarks. Serena snorts. Bernie barks. They cling to each other as they laugh, erupting into a fresh peel every time they turn from each other’s shoulders to find Pedro still staring at them, alternating between one eye and the other, and always a few steps nearer than when they last looked.

Eventually he stops near Bernie’s feet, leans forward to slap his beak against her booted ankle, and quakes again.

‘Come on, I think we’re being summoned,’ Bernie breathes out, voice thick with laughter, and ushers Serena out of her lap.

Serena clambours off the bale as elegantly as she can, mindful of Pedro’s tiny feet as he chitters happily, her hands heavy against Bernie’s knees before she settles on her feet and straightens. She smiles down at Bernie and offers out her hand, again—this time to haul her off the hay—and again, Bernie holds tight, tangling their fingers together.

They walk out of the barn and into the last beams of afternoon sun with their palms pressed tight, shoulders bumping, lips smiling, and wander back towards the cottage with Pedro waddling happily along in their wake.


End file.
